What's in a name?
by GoldenVine
Summary: Sherlock and Molly have welcomed their beautiful baby boy into the world but the trouble is they don't know what to call him. Queue Uncle Mycroft to the rescue! Fluff.


**A/N - I haven't posted in a while. I know, I'm terrible but here is a cute little one-shot as a peace offering. I just want to say how much I appreciate all your support no matter if you review or favourite or add me to alerts it all means so much! Sherlollians are really the nicest people and I love each and every one of you. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer - Sherlock is not mine. Unfortunately. Also un-beta'd all mistakes are mine. (But there shouldn't be any because I triple checked but to err is to be human.)**

"What about Gladstone?" suggested Sherlock as he absentmindedly plucked his violin.

"We are naming a child Sherlock, not a dog!" chastised Molly. She sighed deeply as she rubbed her protruding bump.

Only six months in and there was already a parental disagreement in 221b or, as John Watson had come to refer to it as, 'The War of the Baby Names.' It turned out that although Sherlock and Molly shared very similar opinions on almost everything – experiments on dead bodies, Italian food, the unnecessary flamboyance of opera – they did not see eye to eye when it came to baby names. It was fair to say that Sherlock's idea of a suitable baby name and Molly's idea of an acceptable name were on opposite ends of the spectrum. While Molly was more traditional with name suggestions like William, Henry and Olivia, Sherlock was, well, Sherlock with his more notable name suggestions being Wolfgang ("Mozart's first name Molly. Obviously my child will be a gifted musician."), Bartholomew ("St. Bart's is a common factor in our relationship; our child will be too.") and Molly's least favourite Star ("They are sparkly and I like them.")

"Why not? Gladstone is a strong name for a boy."

"No because one Gladstone is a pet's name and two what if it's a girl?" Molly argued as she stood to make herself a very healthy but equally horrible green tea. She missed the caffeine terribly, she really did.

"I thought we agreed upon Sky if it was a girl," Sherlock pouted, "and we don't have to worry about it being a girl" he mumbled quietly watching Molly get up from her seat with some difficulty.

"I know but I'm having second thoughts." Molly made her way over the kitchen threshold before she stopped dead and slowly turned to look at the consulting detective, "What do you mean we don't have to worry about it being a girl?"

Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed choosing to stare at a spot on the floor as if expecting it to save him from Molly's inevitable ire. They had agreed to not know the sex of the baby but really he deduced for a living and this deduction was simple! Also, he may have peaked at the papers whilst Molly was cleaning the gel from the ultrasound off. He had never liked surprises.

"You know the sex?" shrieked Molly pointing at Sherlock accusingly.

"Really Molly, I've known for a while. I am a detective after all."

"Not the point! We agreed for it to be a secret!"

"Woops."

"Urgh I can't believe you Sherlock Holmes you are a despicable man!" Molly shouted as she threw the nearby cushion at her husband's face and stormed into their bedroom, "And if you think you're getting a say in his name now then you are sorely mistaken!"

Luckily on the day of Baby Holmes' birth all parties were talking and cooperating with each other normally. Sherlock had been absolved of his sins through a punishment of sleeping on the sofa and no body parts for a week and Molly was actually relieved to know the sex as she was able to choose a colour scheme for the nursery – blue with lots of jungle animals.

Molly stared down at her sleeping baby son and felt a rush of love gather in her chest. Her son had a few dark auburn tufts on his head, clear opalescent blue eyes and a lovely little cupid's bow just like his father. Baby Holmes had everything a perfect little child should have bar one thing; a name.

"What about Hamish?" suggested John as he stroked the little boys face.

"Hamish?" queried Molly.

John smiled slightly, "It's my middle name."

"It's a nice name. I like it. Sherlock?"

"No." Sherlock answered quickly. He had been staring at his son for the past twenty minutes thinking about names, "He is neither Scottish nor ginger. And anyway, I don't like the name."

"Oi what's wrong with it?" argued John.

"It doesn't sound right. Hamish Hooper Holmes. Too many h's."

Molly nodded in agreement and placed Baby Holmes into his crib, "I don't know. It's such a big decision to make and he's only tiny."

"Oh I know dear. When I had my two it took me ages to decide on names" put in Mrs Hudson who had come to visit with John.

"What are your children called Mrs Hudson?" asked Molly.

"Oh well, I have a girl Mary-Jane and my boy is called Victor, unfortunately he's named after my husband."

"Unfortunately?" asked Molly settling back into her pillows.

"Mrs Hudson's husband was a very bad man. I helped put him behind bars which then led to his death. Not a great loss to humanity."

"So not Victor then" decided Molly.

"No, not Victor."

"James?" suggested John.

"Are you forgetting Moriarty?" countered Sherlock.

"Adam?" proposed Mrs Hudson.

"Known weapons dealer."

"Jacob?" offered John.

"Is on trial for murdering his wife and sister-in-law."

"Are there any names not tainted by criminals?" Molly said with more than a hint of annoyance.

"Yes, but none of them fit our little one" Sherlock said as he gazed at the perfect form of his son. The little boy oblivious to the fuss that his naming was causing stirred slightly before nodding off to sleep.

It was a good seven hours after Mrs Hudson and John had left that Mycroft decided it was time he met his new nephew. Of course arranging a visit outside of predestined visiting hours was no problem for the British government however when he walked, carefully and quietly, into the private suite he had arranged for his brother no-one was there to greet him. Or rather, no-one was awake to greet him.

Sherlock was lying with his head on Molly's bed, eyes shut and snoring lightly, hand clutching Dr Hooper's affectionately. Both were dead to the world or as good as. No doubt the birth of their child had tired them out even a consulting detective could not escape the overwhelming change a child could bring.

Mycroft placed his umbrella on the end of Molly's bed and made his way round to the crib. After placing a baby blue Steiff bear (only the best for a Holmes) at the bottom of the hospital crib he gently picked up baby Holmes and cradled him softly.

"Hello little one" Mycroft whispered.

The little bundle opened his eyes sleepily and stared at the strange man holding onto him. Mycroft gasped at how alike Sherlock he was – there would be no DNA tests needed for this one. The baby screwed up his face and started to kick in protest at being disturbed.

"Shhh now, stop fussing we don't want to wake Mummy or Daddy up."

Mycroft bounced the boy in his arms and walked over to the big window facing out onto London. It was night time and the city seemed to sparkle with all the neon lights and glistening stars, something that Mycroft rarely got to see.

"This is your home. It's called London and it's very big," Mycroft adjusted the blanket so that he could see out of the window, "It's full of people. Good people and bad people but you'll never have to worry about the bad people. Uncle Mycroft will protect you from them. He promises."

Sherlock stirred at the sound of a deep voice in the room. He blinked open his eyes and looked to the cot to find his son gone. Panic set in as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. _Where is he? Who has him? _

He mentally started to draw up a list of enemies until he heard a low humming and then singing. He looked up to the window to see Mycroft soothing the fussing child and singing to him in a put on cockney accent that he was surprised to see come out of the elder Holmes mouth.

"Consider yourself at home.

Consider yourself one of the family.

We've taken to you so strong.

It's clear we're going to get along.

Consider yourself well in  
Consider yourself part of the furniture  
There isn't a lot to spare  
Who cares? Whatever we've got we share!

If it should chance to be  
We should see  
Some harder days  
Empty larder days  
Why grouse?  
Always a chance we'll meet  
Somebody  
To foot the bill  
Then the drinks are on the house!

Consider yourself our mate  
We don't want to have no fuss,  
For after some consideration, we can state  
Consider yourself  
One of us!"

Sherlock smiled as he knew, yes he knew, in that exact moment what his son would be called.

Oliver.

**Give the review button a visit on your way out? He's missed you all so much since I haven't posted in a while :)**


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